


prank calls, groceries, and bears (oh my!)

by mistyheartrbs



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, it's just fluff! it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyheartrbs/pseuds/mistyheartrbs
Summary: Eve and Villanelle try their best to settle into remote life.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 15
Kudos: 124





	prank calls, groceries, and bears (oh my!)

**Author's Note:**

> i seriously don't think i could ever fully express the range of feelings i have about that finale. i don't know how we got so lucky to be able to witness this show, and i hope the crew takes all the time they need to get s4 in its best condition but also it feels like a long wait already.

They make it out, taking haphazard flights on tiny little planes that wobble every few seconds, until they reach some remote cabin in the woods oceans away. The closest town is miles down the road, and it consists of exactly one convenience store and a post office that’s always closed. The cabin itself is one room, more like a box than a house, and it has an old television, a microwave, a couch, and little else.

Nobody would think to find them here, a defective assassin and a runaway MI6 agent, and that makes it as close to perfect as anything can be, right now. 

***

They take turns getting the groceries (it’s too suspicious for just one visitor to this remote town to keep going back, they decide, but it’s more suspicious for _two_ women to appear out of nowhere) and the term _groceries_ is a bit of a stretch anyway. Nothing fresh ever comes this far out; the tiny convenience store is stocked with cup noodles and artificially preserved snack cakes, the kinds of things that would survive an apocalypse if it remembered to find this place. 

_If the Twelve don’t kill them first,_ Villanelle says over a dinner of badly reheated off-brand toaster pastries one cold evening, _malnutrition might._

Eve, having spent the last several months living like a hermit in her own house, too exhausted to bother with the oven, is not bothered by this. Villanelle, who left bad anonymous Yelp reviews on four-star restaurants because a patron looked at her funny, is very bothered by this. There are more pressing things to worry about, of course, but it is a point of tension between them, and even that is nice in its own way. 

She’d never given herself the chance to think about what a life with Villanelle would actually look like, and even though the knowledge that this is temporary hangs over both of them like some foreboding cloud, even though Eve bought out the convenience store’s supply of locks the first day they arrived and Villanelle used a knife to jam a do-it-yourself peephole into the door, this is still a life together. 

***

Weeks pass, or maybe months - the only source of time here is a calendar of guinea pigs standing against pastel backgrounds and wearing various hats, bought by Villanelle on a whim because she wanted to (in her words) “liven the place up, Eve, it’s like we’re living in a coffin.” Everything else in the house was left over by the previous owner, whose identity is mysterious enough that Eve is at least somewhat convinced that they’re hiding in the non-existent basement, waiting for a moment to strike.

Paranoia makes perfect sense here, now, but that doesn’t make it less annoying. 

In any case, it’s Eve’s turn to venture into the world, and so she does, and she goes through the motions and gathers up all the tasteless canned goods into a stretchy plastic bag and trudges back through the snow, through the woods, back to their secluded little house. 

She presses her ear to the door, as is customary at this point, and expects to hear the usual sounds of the place - Villanelle snoring in that cartoon-character way of hers, or singing horribly to the boxy radio, or just the muffled silence of a snow-covered house, but instead she hears _talking._

“...oh, this is the Shark household. Who is this?” Villanelle is speaking into the egg-yolk-yellow phone, the dusty thing neither of them had spared a second glance, the thing that never rang because _nobody would find them here._ Eve eases open the door, hands clenched white-knuckled around the bag. 

“Villanelle?” she whispers, closing the door behind her, glancing out the window just to be sure. 

“Are you running?” Villanelle asks, her voice low and husky, and Eve’s blood runs cold. There are vague noises of confusion from the other end of the line. For a nonsensical moment she wonders if it’s possible to murder someone through the phone. 

“Vil?”

“You should be,” Villanelle continues, mouth split open into a deadly smile. More confused phone noises. “Because you need to catch your refrigerator.” She slams the phone back onto the receiver and laughs, loud, sharp. Eve jumps back reflexively, spilling the groceries all over the patchy wooden floorboards. Villanelle lazily tips her head back and smirks. “Hi, Eve.”

“Wh- who was that?” 

“I have no idea.”

“You know that’s not how the prank goes,” Eve says, in lieu of anything else. 

“But they would know that I knew.” Villanelle taps her head with her pointer finger, eyebrows raised. “Distraction is key.”

“So they were, what, the Twelve? MI6?”

“Or somebody who just punched in the wrong number.” Villanelle picks up a stick of gum and stuffs it in her pocket, as if there are other people here. “It’s easy to get those sorts of things mixed up.” 

_“Or_ someone’s _after us,_ right now, and you’re...prank-calling them!” Eve slams the thick curtains shut, turning off the lights. 

“It’s very cathartic, telling someone off like that.”

“Hrm.” 

“Come on.” Villanelle pats the spot beside her on the couch, the only furniture they have, and smiles brightly. “If someone showed up, we would know. There’s nothing out there. Besides, I set up bear traps.” 

“Oh.” Eve pauses. “You did?” 

“They’re not that hard to make.” She shrugs again, glances at the phone like she’s expecting it to ring again. This does not exactly instill Eve with much confidence. “And they work on bears _and_ people. Two birds with one stone, or one bear trap, as it were.” Villanelle closes her eyes and sinks into the couch a little. “I think I would be able to win against a bear.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

“If I had the element of surprise.” Villanelle cups her chin in her hand, and she looks like a painting, and it’s easy for a moment to forget why they’re here - on the run from both sides, in the middle of nowhere. Eve’s heart thumps, and it’s the only sound for a few seconds. “I’m smaller, nimbler.” A breeze blows through the peephole (knives are not a good replacement for professional door construction) and both women shiver. “And I have things to fight for.” Eve laughs.

“What, like this shitty log cabin?”

“Like you.” There’s an awkward pause, one that seems to fill up the room. They still have yet to put a name on their relationship - running away together and being married in the eyes of the town notwithstanding, there’s a certain kind of refusal to fully address it. 

Eve opens her mouth to say something - what, exactly, she isn’t sure - and is somewhat thankfully interrupted by the phone ringing again. Villanelle kicks it off the table. The receiver clatters to the floor with a ring.

“There,” she says, either unaware or very aware of the fact that the cord is caught on her leg. “Nobody can bother us now.”

“The cord’s caught on your leg.” 

_“You_ can bother me now, apparently.” Villanelle untangles the cord anyway and folds her arms, petulant. “Honestly, Eve, I would have expected at least two months to pass before you started to act like we were actually a married couple.” 

“Maybe a bear wouldn’t be that bad,” Eve muses, finally getting around to shrugging off her coat. Villanelle elbows her.

“I think I’m much better company than a bear.” She frowns. “I can actually carry on a conversation, I don’t smell…” Villanelle raises her eyebrows, as if waiting for Eve to continue the game.

She kisses her, instead, because they’re alone here, and because she wants to, and sometimes it’s as simple as that. 

Villanelle blinks several times, like she’s processing it. Eve can practically see a loading screen float above her head. 

“Oh,” Villanelle says. “So that’s something.” 

Needless to say, they don’t leave the cabin for a while afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> there wasn't anything announced during the hibike event this morning so instead i wrote this.


End file.
